I presume it is intentional on the part of those charged with the choice of liturgical texts to have the first reading today (1 JN 2:18-21) begin with the words, “Children, it is the last hour…” Scholars have said that the author was writing to the Christian community to strengthen them against those (“antichrists”) who were spreading untruths about the Christ and about what faithful disciples believed to be imminent, i.e. the fact that Christ would be returning soon to the benefit of “the anointed ones.” It sounds like a serious moment of choice about belief and how to live it. In a way, we might see an analogy in the situation of Americans today. Clearly we are on the cusp of great – one might even say stunning – changes in our country, and it is becoming clearer that similar scenarios are being played out in other parts of the world as well.

It is not my intention this morning to reflect on such weighty topics as are before us all, but it is, in fact, the last day of the year (my reason for commenting on the intentionality of liturgical scholars). My thoughts today are clearly personal – and actually contrived in a way. Regular readers may have noticed that there was no blog post yesterday. Circumstances were some of the reason but there was a small part of me that wanted to postpone until this day – the cusp of a new year. You see, this post, as incredible as it seems to me, is the 1,000th almost-daily “word” that has appeared here. I have thought on occasion of giving up the practice, but since our readership has remained somewhat steady, with incremental increases on occasion (561 at this point), and since it is now, in fact, a practice for me, I see it as a benefit in my own spiritual life. Since this is the moment for resolutions about personal betterment in the coming year I suppose I should do my best to re-energize my commitment to deepening the totality of all things spiritual in my life and let the postings take shape from that place.

Because I have come to believe, as St. Paul clearly stated, that none of us lives as our own master, concluding that we are all one in Christ (and I would venture in our day to add “in humanity”), my strongest desire for this daily work is for us all to grow together. To that purpose I will continue to search for deeper expressions of truth and the love upon which I base all my beliefs. May all of our resolutions lead us day by day to the unity and peace that is surely possible if we move toward it together. And tomorrow may we awaken with a willingness to commit to that future as we wish those we meet a Happy New Year.

The suggestion of a commentary on Psalm 96, subtitled by author Lynn Bauman A Song Welcoming the Holy One, is that readers experiment with singing rather than saying it because singing is a “vehicle for communication with God.” While this is the rightful presentation of psalms in liturgy, I don’t often think of it as a mode of private prayer. I just tried it – in the privacy of my own room, of course – and the result was less than stellar. I have to admit, however, that I didn’t prepare; I just sang it “cold” without thought of the meaning, phrasing, timing or cadence. (Hmmm…that sounds as if I have some idea of musicality. Don’t be fooled!) My attempt was quite timid, but I must say it had the potential to open the words to me in a more vibrant way than if I had spoken the text. Perhaps I’ll give it another try. Should you be moved to join me from afar, here are the words I was tentatively offering as morning praise to the Creator of the universe.

Come, sing to God, O earth, sing out this song anew. And bless God’s holy name in praise, for day to day we are renewed, restored, refreshed again by glory’s light. Proclaim good news among the nations of the earth, tell all the peoples everywhere God’s work, God’s ways, the wonders that God does. For you can never add the holy One to any list of gods who are but idols made, projections of our thoughts and needs, creations of our hands. For it is the living God we know and praise who made us all and put in place the canopy of stars and space and filled the earth. O, the beauty of your presence, God! O, the splendor and the power in which you dwell!

Today in Western Christianity (and tomorrow in the East) we celebrate the feast of The Holy Innocents. Herod the Great, an insecure king of Judea, was fearful of any threat to his throne. When astrologers from the East who had come to pay homage to the “newborn king” Jesus and eluded him upon their departure without giving up his whereabouts to Herod, the king became furious and ordered all boys under the age of two years to be killed. This slaughter puts one in mind of children in war-torn countries today who, though innocent in every way, die each day from violence, starvation or disease.

I have rarely, if ever, been as distressed about the plight of the world’s children as I have been in the past year seeing newsfeed of the children who are attempting to flee tyranny and danger. Especially moving to me are the pictures from Syria, recently and most dramatically, those from Aleppo. I carry the images with me everywhere, lamenting my inability to effect any tiny change to the situation.

Miraculously, I saw on the news some days ago, the story of a woman – a Lebanese American photographer and chef – who has been taking soup to a refugee camp on the Lebanese-Syrian border. Her name is Barbara Abdeni Massaad and over the past year she had created a project called Soup For Syria. Garnering recipes from 80 famous chefs for soups from different cultures, she wrote a 208-page book in less than one year which includes the recipes and wonderful food photography as well as photographs of the refugees. One of the celebrity chefs, Roden, “hopes the book helps to keep the plight of Syrian refugees in peoples’ minds and that it will raise funds to alleviate their awful living conditions until their future is settled.” (www.theguardian.com)

The wonderful thing about this for me is knowing that the Interlink Publishing Group has pledged that 100% of the proceeds from the book sold in the United States will go to fund the food relief efforts of the United Nations High Command on Refugees for Syria. There is a movement to get people involved in this project, found on the website soupforsyria.com. My hope is to organize a soup supper in my town – maybe many! – where the price of admission is the cost of the book that will be available at the event. I read this morning that the book is temporarily out of stock because of the great demand – which makes me happy and gives me time to get organized. A reprint is underway and new orders will be ready to ship in February, so I need to get busy.

I know that my efforts will not change the face of the refugee crisis in the world. But I will at least add my small piece to the solution, knowing that some of the Holy Innocents in our world will be fed!

The “common cold” has been getting a lot of attention recently. We’ve been warned about the danger of being heedless as it could lead to pneumonia – and that to death, especially for the elderly. Whether it be an excess of caution or a very serious infection, Queen Elizabeth of England has joined the ranks of those of us afflicted in this season, to the extent that she missed participating in her traditional Christmas church service for the first time in 30 years!

I was reminded of the Queen as I read a translation of this morning’s psalm (97) that used the word “Sovereign” for God in the first verse. It is God, I AM, who is sovereign over all, it said. We have been watching at our house the Netflix original series called The Crown which so far (only one season produced thus far) chronicles the period of Elizabeth II’s early life and the first decade of her reign as queen. The introduction to each episode is quite strikingly artistic, beginning with strands of molten gold, flowing and swirling and eventually forming the weighty (5 pounds, they say) crown of the queen. Just that piece and the title give a perfect introduction to the main theme of the entire series: the role of the sovereign which, as is clear from the oath at her coronation, comes directly from God. A weighty destiny indeed.

I have stopped after writing the above, not knowing where to take that thought. There is so much that flows from its meaning. Her serious demeanor seems rarely left behind, usually only when she has been seen walking her dogs in the countryside, for instance. That makes more sense to me now, having seen images of her struggling with the impossible task of one who is seen to have divine authority but at the same time is bound by centuries of protocols and traditions that seem ironclad, thus immune to her differing opinions. I feel a new compassion for her, rather than just a passing curiosity about what she is wearing or whether she is smiling when she appears on the news. Wherever this leads, it reminds me of the serious “job” of leadership and the task of the rest of us to research before we judge.

I probably should have said something gleaned from Meg Wheatley’s book, Turning to One Anotherbefore the holidays started since so many of us were on our way to gatherings during these days. If close to home, we are probably back in our own space by now, safe in our daily routines. For some, today may be a travel day, perhaps an unlikely time to be on the internet – unless stuck in an airport, of course. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling as if I had anything to say this morning that was worthy of note but, since I needed a companion for my second cup of coffee, I pulled Meg Wheatley off the shelf and opened to a section named willing to be disturbed. Although the entire section is worthy of note, the beginning caught my eye immediately. I will only submit to you the first paragraph and a short addendum but once again, I offer the book as one to review on a regular basis because her words are relevant, it seems, to whatever day we find them in – ordinary or not.

As we work together to restore hope to the future, we need to include a new and strange ally – our willingness to be disturbed. Our willingness to have our beliefs and ideas challenged by what others think. No one person or perspective can give us the answers we need to the problems of today. Paradoxically, we can only find those answers by admitting we don’t know. We have to be willing to let go of our certainty and expect ourselves to be confused for a time…

It is very difficult to give up our certainties – our positions, our beliefs, our explanations. These help define us; they lie at the heart of our personal identity. Yet I believe we will succeed in changing this world only if we can think and work together in new ways. Curiosity is what we need. We don’t have to let go of what we believe, but we do need to be curious about what someone else believes. We do need to acknowledge that their way of interpreting the world might be essential to our survival. (p. 34-35)

The prophet Isaiah has had a lot to say during the season of Advent and today, when Christians celebrate the feast of the Nativity of Jesus the Christ, there are four different possibilities from the Roman Catholic lectionary for reflection on those prophecies. Whether from the vigil Mass, the Mass during the night, at dawn or during the day today, this prolific book of the Hebrew Scriptures is a call to attention, recognition and renewal in God’s love. My favorite is always IS 9:1-6, which speaks of the light seen by the people who have been walking in darkness. I should remember to read it more often for the sheer poetry of it. This morning two things stand out.

For a child is born to us…They name him Wonder Counselor…Prince of Peace…I have received news of four new babies recently with names I had never or rarely heard before. I have saved the texts with pictures of these wise-looking beings shining out from my phone. I look at and share them often to the delight of everyone. They are unspoiled as yet by this world’s dangers and woes and it is my prayer that they will be instruments of peace and love as they grow.

The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this! Zeal is such an active word and although I am reminded by this last line of the quoted text that it is God’s work to bring the peace of Isaiah’s vision, it seems so contagious as to be irrepressible – flowing out to “infect” all those who catch its meaning. Here are some dictionary synonyms for the word zeal: passion, ardor, love, fervor, fire, avidity, devotion, enthusiasm, eagerness, keenness, appetite, relish, gusto, vigor, energy, intensity… How is it possible that those who experience God’s zeal for this world’s ongoing creation would be able to remain indifferent to the ongoing achievement of God’s task?

So on we go. Basking in whatever the celebrations of our faith traditions bring to us during this holiday season, may we be renewed in optimism and hope for our world and confident that we are equal to the task of peace and universal love if we are willing to join with all others in this holy and essential work.

Tonight there will be candles lit all over the world in celebration of light. In a wonderful coincidence (a happening of two things at once) not only will Christians celebrate the birth of the Christ beginning with vigil services in the evening, Midnight Mass, and/or celebrations tomorrow throughout the morning, but this year will also see tonight the lighting of the first candles as Jewish families and congregations begin the eight days of Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights, celebrating the dedication of the temple in Jerusalem.

As often happens, the above synchronicity has led me to the lyrics of two songs, the first which was occasioned during a phone conversation yesterday. Somehow in the midst of remembering “the good old days” of Peter, Paul and Mary, their song Light One Candle entered our conversation. Although we were not speaking of Hanukkah as they were in 1982, I thought of it this morning as the first verse begins: Light one candle for the Maccabee children…The punch line, however, the clear and emphatic theme that begins the chorus was our topic. P, P & M actually seemed to be pleading with the world as they sang: Don’t let the light go out! It’s lasted for so many years…Then as I began writing this morning, a second song – this one from England in 1977 – came to mind: Light of the world, shine on me, love is the answer…

There are all sorts of examples of what the word “light” can mean. For a great percentage of the world’s population one or the other or both of those songs hold great meaning. Whether we begin a celebration at our dinner table with the pure flame of a small candle or find ourselves clicking the flashlights on our iPhones in an audience of thousands of people swaying to words that call for peace, light is the metaphor whose underlying reality we most desire. Let us all light a light tonight, taking a moment to find peace in ourselves and then sending that peace out to our world.

I’m thinking about laundry this morning, specifically the necessity of working really hard to get spots off clothes – usually new ones that I’ve just worn for the first or second time. It would be nice to just drop a little bleach on the salad dressing or beet juice or whatever has created the offending stain, but that only means total ruin of the garment. It might have helped the biblical fuller though – the one from the third chapter of Malachi (3:2) where “the one who is to come” will be like the refiner’s fire or like the fuller’s lye. I remember from my childhood that lye soap was the strongest kind, used in the big laundry sink where clothes got really scrubbed on the washboard. It’s a vague memory, blotted out by modern conveniences like a wringer-less washing machine and every kind of spot remover possible to human invention. Our lives have been made easier in lots of ways but it would be unfortunate to lose the meaning of this analogy in Malachi’s prophecy.

I understand the process of what happens in a refinery to produce pure gold or silver – leaving the dross behind in that hottest of hot fires. Less easy to comprehend, perhaps, in this age of progress is the work of the fuller, who not only scrubbed and picked at the material (usually wool, I think) but beat it with a stick or some other hard object to get out all the natural oils and impurities before weaving or selling it.

I think, as I look back on my life, there have been times of significant growth occasionally brought on by the pain that can accompany purification in some way. More often, however, it is simply life experience that has taught me the lessons necessary to moving deeper in consciousness. I’ve missed some of the signs along the way, but those are the times when something more blatant happens to wake me up and helps me to let go of what holds me bound. Interestingly, as I get older, the fire seems less hot and the lye less abrasive or caustic as I welcome rather than resist the refining as a step closer to “the finished product.”

I think that might just be one of the things that Jesus came to teach us, so that as we welcome him on Sunday, we do it with an openness and a willingness to learn the hard lessons. In the end, that should stand us in good stead to greet God as brilliant garments wrapped in purest gold.

I am unable this morning to sort through the many thoughts running through my head to find coherence. Everywhere my eye falls or a synapse fires, another topic appears like a small rivulet that cannot find the stream, so I call on Joyce Rupp for a word suitable for this day. Here is what she offers:

Creator of the Dawning Sun, draw me with your eternal energy. Filter your transforming glow through every inner fiber of mine until I am transparent with the power of your enlightening beauty.

This morning there was a shaft of light across my bed as I was throwing back the covers. I thought something – the wind or some animal – had tripped the light over the carport outside. When I looked out I saw a brilliant waning moon with the nearby morning star shining in response to its light. I don’t know when I first heard the line: The morning star shines clear in the sky, offering it the Word of Life, but it always comes to me automatically when I catch sight of that loveliness.

Then there was the silent dawn, clear and pure as the sound of the cymbal Tibetan chime that sometimes calls me to meditation. One of the advantages of the cold of winter (which some of us welcome on this date without much reluctance) is the clarity that accompanies the cold. Yes, there are the storms and the inconveniences but on a clear day there is a sharpness of the air, and breathing it in has the ability to shake the cobwebs out of the mind and get us moving quickly to our destination – literally or figuratively. Today appears to be one of those days. I will know it later when I leave the house. For now, I have the O Antiphon for today to spur me on.

O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come and shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.